"Rush me!" taunted Dave, again in English. "Don't be so afraid. If you mean to kill me why don't you show courage enough to do it? Come on, you sneaks!"
Though the Apaches could not understand what the young ensign said to them, they knew the drift of his jeering words. Their faces contorted with rage, they struck at him, Dave's arms working like piston rods in his efforts to ward off their blows.
Close to the wall, slipping along on tip-toe came a tall figure. Then suddenly a newcomer leaped into the picture.
Biff! smash! Struck from behind in the neck, two of the Apaches pitched forward, going to earth. Dave Darrin, with a feint, followed up with a swinging right-hand uppercut, laid the last of the Apaches low, for the fellow sitting in a doorway, nursing his knee and cursing, no longer counted.
"Quick! Out of here!" ordered the newcomer, seizing Dave by the arm and starting him along.
"Jetson!" gasped Ensign Darrin, looking into the face of his rescuer.
"Yes," answered his brother officer. "Hurry along!"
"Jetson, you've saved my life this time. That pack of wolves would have killed me in spite of my best defense."
"We're not out of trouble yet," retorted Jetson, fairly pushing Darrin along. "Those Apaches will revive in a few seconds."
"Pooh! Together, Jetson, we could thrash half a dozen of their kind, and find it only exercise."